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Biology lesson: Police officers vs. cops

My recent encounter with the two police officers on motorcycles in my neighborhood, in which my perception was that they had set up some type of barricade to catch an offender at the far end of my street and led me to speed up to get out of their way, which further led to a speeding ticket at the end, got me to thinking about another experience I had with police officers, a long time ago.

It was the summer of 1978, and in an unnamed town, police officers were paid, perhaps with grant money, to go to college to obtain their bachelor’s degrees. I happened to know two of the police officers who were also partners, and we somehow hooked up and decided to carpool and drive to another unnamed town at an unnamed college to take Biology II. Back then, summer school classes were compressed and it took most of the day to attend the class and the lab that went along with it.

But the ride to the college was short and very memorable. Lately the whole thing has got me to thinking about the differences in small towns and the differences in police officers, henceforth known as “cops,” at least in this column.

On the first day of our journey, one of the cops drove to the college, which was 30 miles away, and I got a great thrill out of riding in a police car in complete innocence.

But the greatest thrill was not riding in the police car. The greatest thrill was arriving at the unnamed college, which was 30 miles away, in 15 minutes. Turns out, the first cop on the first day made it clear to me that we would drive at the speed of light to dissect bullfrogs. I will say that most of the drive was a flat stretch and the cops did slow down a tad when we encountered an occasional curve.

On the second day of our journey, the second cop drove, and I detected a tad of hesitance in his driving at the speed of light. But he did it anyway. I will also add that the second cop was shy, unlike the first cop, and to this day when I run into the second cop he turns beet red and looks down at the ground. When I run into the first cop on occasion, he laughs maniacally and shows no regret.

On the third day of our journey, it was my turn to drive and I did not have a police car. I drove my parents’ 1968 green Impala, otherwise known as “the bomb,” and I was a tad nervous when the first cop told me to “floor it.”

“What if I get a ticket?” I asked.

“We’re cops!” he said. “You ain’t gonna get no ticket!” And then he laughed like he owned the world, but I did what he said and I “floored it,” and it was fun to make the green bomb travel at the speed of light. Both cops got a kick out of the green bomb and this comforted me, somehow. Indeed, we made it through the summer school Biology II class without getting a ticket, but there is more to the story.

For one thing, every day when I got home from class, Mama would ask, “Hon, you sure did get home early. You’re not going over the speed limit, are you?”

“Nah,” I said. “I never drive over 55.”

And here is the rest of the story. Unbeknownst to me, while taking a difficult lab test in which we got to stick pins into the bullfrogs and label their body parts, the cops were cheating off of me. The instructor, who will also remain unnamed, caught them and his face turned as red as a vine-ripe tomato.

“Everybody back to class right now!” he screamed. Everyone looked at each other in astonishment, not knowing what was happening. And so we went back to the classroom and sat down in our desks.

The instructor stood behind his podium, still furious and red-faced. “I cannot believe this!” he screamed. “Two grown men, cheating off of a young lady on a lab test! Hell, I’d have given you a damn C if you’d tried to do it on your own!”

The room was silent. Still, I had no idea who the cops had cheated off of — it had to be the cops because they were the only “grown men” in the class.

And then the instructor did something that implicated me, of course; the innocent one. He jerked my desk and dragged it up beside his podium and said, “Now! You won’t be able to cheat off of anyone again!”

I must admit that this was the first time anyone ever cheated off of me, and I felt sort of honored.

In a couple of days, the instructor calmed down and the class came to an end. The cops each got a C and I got an A, and this made Mama happy.

And even though the cops got into trouble, we continued to drive back to the unnamed town from the unnamed college, flooring the green bomb and arriving home in 15 minutes.

I’ve had a lot of good summers in my 55 years, but the summer of 1978 was one of my favorites. After all, in the presence of cops, or “police officers,” I always obey their commands, because that is what we are required to do as civil servants.

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Julie Gillen has written a humor column for The Daily Herald since July 2000. Her second book of column compilations, “Under the Rug: Black Lace and Barbie Doll Heads,” is available at Amazon.com. Email her at juliegillen76@hotmail.com.

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